Mycroft was silent as they walked the empty halls of the Diogenes Club. He'd let her in without question, so be obviously had expected her. She just wished she knew why.

"So you're interested in my brother," he said.

"I would say he's interested in me," she returned.

"So it would seem. In here, my dear."

Mycroft led her into a small room with white walls and white carpets and white chairs. To say the room was ornate would be an understatement. It was grand, with its high vaulted ceiling and floor to ceiling windows. The drapes looked like long gowns against the walls. There wasn't a spot of dust anywhere.

"I'm to give you this," he said, proffering a card with two fingers.

"What is it?"

"A credit line with an upper limit that far exceeds your annual salary."

Molly dropped the card on the floor.

"But why?" she asked, bending to retrieve it.

"That's a very good question. I think it's one Sherlock should answer. Have a pleasant afternoon, Miss Hooper," Mycroft said, leading her to the door.

When the cab finally stopped again it was after lunch and she was beyond hungry. She stopped for gyros at a little Greek restaurant she loved. She even talked Harris into joining her. Afterwards, full and content, they sat on a park bench overlooking a small pond.

"So you're the one driving Mr. Holmes batty," he said.

"What makes you say that?" she asked.

"I've known Mr. Holmes a long time. I'm his eyes and ears. I've never seen him so serious as when he explained to me what I needed to do. He was very specific, as if this was the most important thing he'd ever done."

"We had better finish what he started then. I'm ready to go."

The taxis came to a stop again, parked under the back-lit bold letters of Harvey Nichols. Molly shook from nervousness as she stepped out. She pulled at her baggy jumper and scrub pants and then she heard Sherlock's words to her once again. You look fine. You worry too much.

She marched through the two large doors with some amount of confidence and was greeted by a smiling concierge. She knew she wasn't Sherlock, but she was smart and she knew why she was there.

"I'm Molly Hooper. You should be expecting me," she said.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Hooper. I'm Denise. If you would please come with me?"

Molly was lead back to a private changing room full of delicate women's undergarments and a pile of blue dresses. Molly grinned as she picked up the first one. She remembered the night they played Cards against Humanity. She wished she'd taken him up on his offer. She'd had no idea how much he would go through to win her over. Her heart beat nervously against her chest at the thought of seeing him again.

"Well this is going to be fun. Can I take pictures?" she asked.

"You can take anything you'd like," Denise replied.

Several hours later Molly was having less fun than she thought. Trying on dresses was exhausting. None of them was the perfect one she wanted Sherlock to see her in when all this was done. It had to be just right. Her eyes picked out a white satin dress lying at the bottom of a pile. Gently she pulled it out and held it against her body.

"This is it. This is the dress," she said softly, fingers caressing the material. It was a beautiful ivory color and the thin straps were black with a matching black rim around the waist. Blue roses and vines were scattered up and down from one side of the dress. It was just the right amount of color. And it was the perfect shade of blue, the one he liked.

"That is lovely. We'll have it altered for you and you may pick it up after your salon appointment."

"Salon?" Molly asked.

An hour later her hair was piled artistically high on the top of her head. Her makeup was light, but perfectly applied to enhance her naturally beauty. She had her dress in a garment bag and was ready to go – wherever that might end up being.